


Of Poor Men & Kings

by FandomTrashbag



Series: Pieces of Cake [3]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbag/pseuds/FandomTrashbag
Summary: Sarah grieves the passing of her father.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Series: Pieces of Cake [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772494
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Of Poor Men & Kings

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure what kind of rating to put on this...  
> I'm sorry to write something sad, especially during a time in which people are dying. Sometimes, I just can't manage happy things.  
> Please forgive me.

**Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.**

-Horace

* * *

The road had been short, compared to others in his position, and very organized. It satisfied him that even his death could have been orchestrated just right. By the time it was discovered, Robert’s condition had been advanced enough that treatment would have merely stalled the inevitable, and not even comfortably. Despite months of planning, making arrangements, and preparing good-byes, there was no being “ready for it.” Sometimes, you can see disaster coming for literal months, sometimes years, and it still hits you with the full force of a semi truck barreling down the highway.

It was a terrible way for Toby to end high school, making him take a heavy gap year before starting college, despite already having a spot at NYU. At least Robert had made it through graduation.

Sarah had just managed solid footing in her own personal life; her second book published, a steady boyfriend (even if he was something of a secret). What little sense of happiness she’d managed to carve out had been sharply derailed by fucking cancer.

Robert insisted on staying home and Karen had hired a hospice worker to help with things she and Toby simply couldn’t handle. Everything had been set so that things went as smoothly as possible and Robert could not have had any more comfort. Karen and Toby made his favorite dinner together, Sarah baked his favorite pie (pineapple, believe it or not). They managed to eat together around the dining table. While there was a thread of melancholy, things managed to be fairly upbeat and normal, just like he’d asked. “Die Hard” was his favorite movie, so they all snuggled into the bedroom together to watch it, a pile of four adult bodies making the king-size bed feel much smaller.

Nancy, the hired help, came in half way through to make sure his medication was set properly for the night before heading home. Everyone pretended it was the same as any other evening on one of The Good Days, but Sarah noticed the empathetic expression Nancy wore as she bid goodnight and a silent nod was exchanged between the women. Nancy was older, experienced; she’d been in this business a very long time and had helped many families along. She would make sure that a fresh bouquet of flowers was delivered after 24 hours. Then she would make sure there was a fresh bunch at least once a month at any available grave.

Several hours later, Karen would leave her bed to quietly slip into Toby’s room. There, they would hold each other tightly, Toby making reassuring mumblings to his mother. Sarah would lie awake in her old room, stretched along that twin bed and stare at the ceiling.

There was a familiar little tingle at the back of her mind and she knew what it was. She also ignored it, tucking it away in a polite-but-firm manner. No visiting tonight. She did not  _ want _ his comfort, nor that of anyone else. Instead, she hugged her bear Lancelot tight to her chest and stared until her eyes burned and she couldn’t be bothered to stay awake any longer.

The following morning would be calm, but quiet. Specific plans had been laid and all the appropriate authorities came to do their jobs. Weeks prior, Robert had decided on cremation. He’d said it was the easiest way for him to follow his family wherever they went. That did not stop them from putting a symbolic gravestone in the family plot. The funeral was kept small, family and friends mostly, and his ashes divided between three identical custom cherry wood boxes.

Karen and Toby cried together, though mostly Karen. Sarah didn’t. She stayed a couple extra days to make sure everyone would be alright. She drove home one afternoon and halfway there it hit her: Sarah Williams was officially, technically, an orphan. Being 33 suddenly felt heavy.

When she got home, she locked her door and just sank into her sofa, leaving her bags in the entryway. She didn’t turn her television on, no lights, never bothered to eat. Eventually, she managed to fall asleep, though she didn’t pay attention to when, let alone for how long she slept. Her second day home passed much like that first, with her only leaving the sofa to use the bathroom. Something prevented her from gathering the energy to even move her mourning to the bedroom. All the while, she felt that ghost of a mental tug in the back of her mind which she continued to ignore. She was much too busy trying to figure out the best way to feel. Linda’s death had been more distant; a lack of true relationship meant getting an email about the accident had had little impact on her. Sure, she felt a sadness, but it was more for the loss of the idea of any future they might have reconciled. At some point, she quit trying to think about it and buried her face in the cushions to sleep some more.

“Sarah.” The voice was soft, masculine, a little fuzzy. She ignored it.

“ _ Sarah _ .” The same voice, a little more insistent this time. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. She felt soft leather stroke the hand that was peeking out from under her blanket.

She started to roll over, her brows knitting in confusion as she attempted to drag herself out of the heavy sleep she’d found. She blinked several times, trying to focus on the blurry figure before her.  
“Papa?” she mumbled. The blur started to focus. Blond hair? That… that wasn’t right.

The leather moved to cup her face ever-so-gently, a thumb lightly brushing her cheek. The face before her started to look familiar as the last of her grogginess started to clear; his expression was sad.

“No, precious,” he answered. His voice was barely above a whisper.

She took a moment to process that as she realized just who was kneeling on the floor in front of her couch. Her face twisted in a sudden crash of grief and understanding. She took a deep gasping breath and choked on it.

Moving slowly, Jareth gathered her in his arms and stood to walk the short distance from her living room to her bedroom. His grip on her was firm as her body shook with tears.

Her hands held the linen of his loose shirt so tightly her knuckles were white; she refused to let go when he tried to put her down. Instead, he lay on his side next to her and held her close around her shoulders, one hand supporting the back of her head. She curled herself into a tight ball and kept her face buried in his chest. The only sound was an occasional gasp of air between sobs and his steady, low humming. He enveloped her, wrapped her up in his body, tucking his legs around hers to cradle her entirely.

It took her awhile to fall back asleep, having spent an hour silently breathing against him once she was done crying. She remembered he kept humming to her; it had been a soothing lullaby that had worked. When she woke, her room was dark, the curtains drawn to block out the street and moonlight outside. In her sleep, she’d uncurled just enough to wrap herself around Jareth more completely; her leg was draped over his side and she hugged him firmly at the waist. Her throw blanket had been tucked over their tangled forms. She pulled back just enough from her spot nestled beneath his chin to look up at his face. He looked nothing like the harsh personality she knew was under there when he slept; it was the one time he seemed truly relaxed.

This time, there was a deep, worried crease between his eyebrows, like he’d fallen asleep frowning. What, she wondered, was he dreaming about as his eyes raced behind their lids. Her hand left it’s place on his back and she brought it up to brush a long strand of hair out of his face, careful not to touch his skin. His eyes stopped moving and slowly opened, blinking slowly and his right eye dilated to match the left in the low light. His expression softened, but he did not smile. He wrapped her hand in his and brought it to his lips; she noticed he’d taken his gloves off.

“I’m sorry,” she tried to say. Her voice cracked and rough from three days of little use.

He simply shook his head, leaning forward to press a firm, long kiss on her forehead.

“While I can do little else than offer comfort, I do wish you’d permitted me to see you sooner.” He kept his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might be painful.

“I just…” she sighed heavily, her breath a little shaky. “We planned everything and it still hurts.”

He squeezed her hand in reassurance, their foreheads touching. “I know.”

“It’s hard to breathe.”

“I know.”

“You could take this from me, couldn’t you?” Her gaze shifted to face, searching it a little desperately. She almost looked offended, angry that he hadn’t offered to do so. “You can make it better.”

He looked at her with such sadness. “I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You won’t, will you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. No, my love, I won’t. You would never forgive me for it,” he said solemnly.

She curled back around him, tucking herself against him and under his chin, holding him tightly. “I hate you for it.”

His sigh was deep, tired. He felt her breathing slow and even out.

“I know,” he whispered to the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this didn't come across as insensitive.
> 
> Hot Take: I'm a huge proponent of assisted suicide, especially for terminally ill individuals. If they are of sound mind and can freely express the solid desire to end their own suffering, I think it's inhumane to deny that choice. I don't think suicide should be a crime; I don't think families should be punished when it happens. I don't think people should be forced to live in pain.
> 
> While I, very gratefully (however fraught our relationships may be), have both of my parents, I can only imagine what it will feel like. My Nana was a third parent to me and my closest friend. I remember what it was like when she died. It's an odd coincidence that she and David Bowie share similar death dates, albeit 15 years apart. She died Jan 11, 2001 and I didn't have the wherewithall to imagine a faerie prince that could magic away that grief for me. I like to think that Jareth would appreciate death as part of life, that feeling grief (however painful) is necessary, and would refuse to erase it from someone he cares about. Sarah might resent him now, but she would never get over it if he just erased her emotions or helped her pretend like it didn't happen.


End file.
